


Frostbite

by FlareWarrior



Series: Kinktober 2017 [4]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Detective Eggsy, Kidnapping, Kinktober 2017, Knifeplay, M/M, it's not very kinky though, there are mentions of gruesome things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/pseuds/FlareWarrior
Summary: Detective Eggsy Unwin has spent months chasing Valentine, the most fearsome serial killer London's seen in years. Well, that they know of. Of course his life isn't that easy.





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

> I was researching serial killers for unrelated reasons and then this happened.

The car rolled to a stop at last, rocking Eggsy back into the rear trunk wall and then forward again so the scratchy rug chafed his skin. Muffled showtunes cut off with the engine, and Eggsy vibrated twice as hard in place to make up for the intolerable stillness of the Earth.

The car shifted and shook when its driver climbed out and closed the door. The sound of his even footsteps filtered into the trunk the way sound filters to the bottom of a pool, tumbled-smooth and distorted. Eggsy's empty holster pressed a bruise into his hip.

A shock of cold air and blinding light made him flinch and scramble up as best he could with his hands and feet duct-taped.

"Good evening, Detective Unwin."

His kidnapper didn't look a thing like a serial killer, which wasn't as common as people believed. _He was such a quiet boy_ , true, but Eggsy would take a thousand quiet men over one who never showered. But this man clearly showered, and probably spent longer in the bathroom every morning than someone following a makeup tutorial for the first time. From his perfect coif to his shined Oxfords to his immaculate peacoat and suede gloves, his kidnapper screamed affluence and sanity.

"You're the Valentine killer."

The man looked affronted, scoffed. It made his dark eyes shine in the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. "Of course not. Valentine is an uninspired hack," he grimaced lightly at his own outburst and composed himself, regaining a thick air of egotism and smugness. Something about his bearing implied it was at least deserved. "I'm only poaching."

"Poaching," Eggsy echoed, deadpan. The man hummed, reaching into his pocket.

"Then who the fuck ar-" Eggsy shoved himself back against the trunk wall reflexively when a gleaming spear of bright silver flicked towards his throat.

"Harry Hart," The man replied as if he wasn't a strong breeze from letting Eggsy bleed out all over the expensive interior of his Aston Martin. With an amused smirk, Harry tipped the blade so Eggsy could read the handle. There in lovely calligraphy were the sprawling letters H.A.R.T. "My family makes knives. I'm often amazed how even in this enlightened age, we still have a need for one of humanity's very first inventions."

It was, if Eggsy had to guess, a very good knife. He wasn't a blacksmith or anything, but there was something about it in Harry's hands that made him positive it would cut him like butter. Harry turned it back to his skin, cool and so close he could hear it hiss through the air.

Harry considered him a moment, his dark eyes locked on Eggsy's throat, then trailed the blade down to the collar of his uniform. "It's a real shame. You're very handsome. I've been watching you, of course. The bright young Detective Unwin, always just one step behind the most troublesome serial killer London's ever been aware of having."

The knife pressed and Eggsy stopped breathing - but rather than cut him, Harry had only sheared a button away. "Dreadful quality, these uniforms."

"What the fuck do you mean by aware of?" Eggsy asked. Like hell he was going out whimpering in the back of some rich arsehole's car. Even if said arsehole was apparently bent on cutting him out of his clothes.

Harry smiled as sharp as his knife, flicking through the threads holding another button in place. "Did you know my name?"

Eggsy glared as hard as he knew how.

"Such spirit. That's why he's marked you, you must know. You're a very clever man, and he's a very cautious one."

Harry flicked aside Eggsy’s ruined shirt to expose the mark in question. The brand still fucking ached where Valentine's assistant had shoved a red-hot iron into his chest. Even the air hurt it, even though his doctors told him it didn't, that the pain was psychological. He'd like to see them after someone broke into their house and marked them for death, see how they held up when the mark was all tight, sensitive scar tissue. The bandages were off, though, which, given the timelines of the other victims, gave him about a week before they would come to collect his life. Valentine was the flashy sort, liked his big, ugly V to be stamped in unmistakably on his victims before he hung them up on whatever monument he wanted cleaned that month.

For better or worse, Eggsy’d been staring death in the face for weeks now and having it _literally_ stare him in the face was almost a relief. He tilted his chin up in challenge of the man before him.

"So what now? You chop my dick off and shove it in my mouth and they find me tied to the fence at Buckingham palace?"

"Heavens no." Again Harry looked affronted, and almost appalled. "Valentine is a torturer. I'm not going to hurt you, aside from the-" he gestured with the knife. "Murder bit. You should be glad I got to you first, I'll give you a dignified end."

There was something about the way he said it, the way he waved his knife like a surgeon - like he knew how to use it, that struck Eggsy as important. Familiar. Not the action, but the potential reaction.

Dignified. Pressure from the index finger, not the thumb. Hart.

"The evangelist!" He maybe got a little too excited at his revelation and Harry drew back, which was odd because he probably shouldn't have minded if Eggsy sliced his own throat open by squirming around.

When Eggsy had first been assigned to his squad they'd found an evangelist dead in his mansion with his heart cut out. No sign of forced entry in his sprawling mansion, not a single trace of evidence or a convincing suspect (not the least because the man had _thousands_ of enemies). It had been so goddamn perfect, him tucked neatly in his bed, hands folded like an honored pharaoh over the gaping hole in his chest. Eggsy had taken one look and said serial killer. His chief had said revenge and shut the case.

He only got to bask in his vindication for a moment, however, seeing as he was in the clutches of the man who'd done the killing in the first place.

Harry's eyes gleamed. Right, Eggsy thought, his conversational partner was a serial killer. It was basically required that he was a showy egomaniac. "Oh, very bright indeed. Valentine had reason to be worried." Harry puffed up, evidentially delighted. "Valentine kills the low-born and poor," he said, his voice resonant. "I only kill terrible people."

"That isn't for you to decide!"

"No, it's for the crown and some nebulous force of random chance," Harry drawled.

Righteous fury swept into Eggsy's chest, heated his skin. Harry was so high and mighty, so perfect, there was no universe where Eggsy would want him casting judgement.

"I've read your case files, Detective. Isn't it wonderful that Dean Baker vanished after being acquitted?"

Eggsy felt his eyes go a little wide at that. Harry smiled again, a cold and humorless thing, and brought the blade back to his throat. The edge grated over his stubble, left a gentle burn on his skin as it sang an unsympathetic tune like the hum of a rubbed wine glass. Eggsy tipped his head back on a caught breath. He waited while Harry's smile heated to something a little more fittingly savage.

"Oh, you're a filthy thing, aren't you?" he asked. Eggsy licked his lips and hoped his flush wasn't obvious. Harry had a certain magnetic pull, he reasoned, and Eggsy was about as high on adrenaline as he ever could be anymore, and the only reason it was getting worse was because it wasn't often someone so far out of his league looked that damn interested in him.

Serial killer, his rational mind attempted to remind him.

"So I guess I'm terrible in your books, then?" he managed. Were Harry's eyes adjusting to the light, or were they always that dark?

"Of course not. If it must be said, killing you isn't something I'll enjoy." His voice was undeniably lower. "The only way to rob Valentine of his satisfaction is to steal the ones he's marked, and the only way to steal them is to kill them first."

"You could take them away, hide them."

Harry rolled his eyes without actually rolling them. Eggsy was a bit fascinated. "Oh, no, that would never work. Valentine has eyes everywhere."

"The police could help."

"He especially has eyes in the police."

"I'm the only one who can catch him."

That, what Harry was doing with his lips, lopsided and, while maybe it was the knife at his throat talking, fond, that looked like a real smile. "I don't doubt it."

The knife remained, and Eggsy's frustration flared. His house had been invaded, he'd been fucking branded by the psychopath he was chasing and left to think about his approaching death for a month, and here was another one about to cut his heart out or whatever just to spite the bastard and Valentine would move on in mild annoyance to his next victim.

"Damn it, Harry!"

"Are we on a first name basis now?"

"You wanna fuckin' kill me so why the fuck not. I can't fuckin' die, not while he's still out there killin' people."

Harry was still looking at where the knife was digging into his throat. It gave the impression he'd changed his mind about whether or not he'd enjoy killing Eggsy, or that he was at least curious to see the particular color of Eggsy’s blood.

"You will if I let you go anyway. Look how easy it was to abduct you."

"Fuck you." Eggsy snapped, and was amazed when he wasn't sliced open for it. Rather, Harry was quiet for a while, like the silver shine against Eggsy's neck had hypnotized him.

"I suppose," he said slowly. At last he looked at Eggsy, projecting an air of thoughtfulness while simultaneously looking eager. His eyes were bottomless, his teeth flashing on every quick word. "I'd have to keep you with me. By my side, at all times. It's the only chance you have."

Eggsy's fists balled behind his back.

"Please."

The blade flashed and burned along his skin, four quick and skillful swipes before the blood even had time to well up from the first. As pink grew red and wet, Harry clicked his knife shut. Eggsy slumped in relief, eyeing the thin, perfect cuts with distant horror and solidifying determination.

A scarlet letter, he'd been marked again with a red H beside Valentine's brand. Three cuts, all sure to scar, and a fourth through the center of the V.

From Eggsy's perspective, his damaged skin read: HA.

Apparently, Harry was a joker.

"Congratulations, mister Unwin. You've been double marked." Harry's grin was slow, frightful and gruesome as it came, murderous intent backed by an actual murderer. "Let the games begin."


End file.
